


Lost in Transportation

by Celyan, christinefromsherwood, soufflegirl91



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Epistolary, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Idiots in Love, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-SPECTRE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21917353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celyan/pseuds/Celyan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood, https://archiveofourown.org/users/soufflegirl91/pseuds/soufflegirl91
Summary: “I see you’re not wearing your new tie, then?”It’s December 23rd and guess who’s back?! Yeah, James Bloody Bond’s decided to swan back into Q-branch. But this time, Q isnot having it!Who does Bond think he is?! Thinking he can just come here willy-nilly and make nasty comments about Q’s clothes?!
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 37
Kudos: 278





	1. Chapter 1

“Hello, Q.”

Bent over the blueprints of a new project, Q took a deep breath to cover his surprise and then let it out oh-so-slowly. 

During his time as the Quartermaster of MI6 Q had seen many agents come and go. 

Some were lost in the line of duty and mourned. 

Some opted for reassignment or early retirement, and no one begrudged them that. Q, who saw what they went through on a daily basis, least of all. 

And then there was this fucker...

Q pasted a smile on his face and threw a frosty look over his shoulder at the figure in his office doorway.

“Ah, Bond, so you’re not dead, then.” Q made sure his voice was as scathing as possible. “Be with you in a moment!” 

There was a slight pause before Bond answered.

His “...OK?” was said in a tone that Q wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the man use before: uncertain and puzzled.

Good! It was more than he deserved! 

What Bond deserved in Q’s honest opinion was to have his name blacklisted on each and every international flight list and all the crotches on all his trousers cut out! 

Q clenched his fists against the back of his chair and let out another careful exhale. 

Bond cleared his throat--uncomfortably, Q noted with some pleasure. 

“I see you’re not wearing your new tie then?” Again there was that uncertainty, and this time, instead of giving Q satisfaction, it made him angry. 

WHO-?! Who EXACTLY did Bond think he was anyway?! 

Barging into his Quartermaster’s office without knocking, making snide comments about his clothes, acting like he had any right to a warm welcome after what he DID?! That… that ABSOLUTE AND UTTER FUCKWEED?!

That Bond had decided to skip away into the sunset with Dr. Swann, Q could accept. 

That he had the gall to ask Q for  _ the fucking car _ too was a tad harder to swallow. But Q was nothing if not used to disappointment and obviously, the car didn’t mean what Q thought it did. Not to Bond anyway, and Q had felt so foolish and used and foolish for feeling used and…

And he got over it. 

Because that’s just life, isn’t it, and one couldn’t afford to get bogged down by a double-oh agent thinking with his dick, and act like a jilted heroine from a Period Drama because of it. 

Halloween had been a fucking nightmare with all the parties and all the FUN, FUN, FUN that you were supposed to be having if you were single. But Q had survived it all relatively unscathed, citing his piles and piles of post-Nine-Eyes paperwork as an excuse more than once. 

And then things had calmed down, and Gary had looked like a nice enough bloke (fun to date at least for a while--the two of them had bonded over unreliable men who weren’t worth their time). 

Then December 4th arrived and with it more of Bond’s fuckery. Because it wasn’t enough that he had left Q and MI6 to deal with the fallout of the SPECTRE shitshow he was directly responsible for. It wasn’t enough that he took the car into the bargain. He had to add insult to injury and taunt Q with gaudy postcards and various shit collected on his whirlwind tour of Europe during which he was evidently having the time of his life!

The first was a box of smashed up macarons and a note.

And the fucker sent it to Q’s home address too, which Q would appreciate (because it did save him the humiliation of opening it with myriad witnesses at Six), if it weren’t for the fact that Q hadn’t been home when it arrived, which forced him to go on a trip to queue in a 2-hour line in the post office. That combined with 24 hours in the office completely wiped him out and Q fell into his bed without bothering to do more than take off his outermost layers of clothing. Only to be woken several hours later by the distressed meows of little Kit who, aided by her brother, had managed to tear open the shoddy wrapping on the box and make herself sick eating Bond’s “presents”. That was one memorable trip to the vet.

After that, Q was very tempted to bin the following packages, or to simply not respond to the Royal Mail notices of their existence. But he supposed that curiosity got the better of him and he subsequently picked up a box of rancid something which claimed to be the famed Linzer Kekse, a little jar of strange goo masquerading as “tea” which was supposed to have been baked somehow, a mug announcing Q to be “The World’s Okayest Boss”, some cat treats, and a laser pointer, each accompanied with a snide little comment on a card. 

(The cookies from Linz were the worst. And not just because they tasted foul. They were heart-shaped and Bond had the nerve to sign the box with “Love, James” and that really fucking hurt.)

And now he’s decided to swan back...

_ Was Q wearing a new tie?  _ Bond could just fuck right off! 

“I fail to see how my choice of clothing is any of your business, 007,” Q said and turned around to give Bond the full benefit of his displeasure. 

Bond blinked, then swallowed and slowly nodded his head.

“Right. Yes,” he said, lifting a corner of his mouth. “I suppose it isn’t.” 

For some reason Bond seemed hurt and Q hated himself a little for how much that bothered him. 

“Did you need something?” he asked quickly, hoping his voice wouldn’t wobble. It didn’t, so he added: “I suppose I could make a note in the system about you returning from your little holiday, though that’s more Tanner’s job. But seeing as Q branch didn’t issue you any equipment, I am really not sure what you’re doing here.”

Bond shifted his stance, straightening his shoulders. As he did so, his dark blue sweater tightened around his torso. Q hated himself for noticing how the soft wool stretched over the muscles underneath, and how the shade of blue brought out Bond’s eyes. 

Damn the man for being such an attractive asshole!

“Didn’t you-” Bond began slowly with a frown, then paused and cleared his face of any expression before beginning anew: “You didn’t receive my messages, I see.” 

“Oh, I got the message alright!” Q hissed out angrily before he could stop himself. 

Bond gaped at him, face gone slack, with his stupid eyes so hurt and his ears sticking out and red at the tips.

Q wanted to cry. He turned his back to Bond.

There was no way he was giving that man any more ammunition.

“Just go away, Bond,” he said and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “I can’t deal with you right now.” 

Behind him, Bond cleared his throat again.

“As you say, Quartermaster. Goodnight.” The words were spoken so quietly and softly it almost made Q want to turn around and look at the man. However, the sound of his office door closing stopped him from doing anything so foolish. 

When Q looked next, Bond was gone. 

Q let out a breath and told himself it was a sigh of relief. (He bit down on his wobbling lower lip and blinked rapidly. It was  _ not _ a sign of emotion, there was simply dust in the air…)

Then he noticed the package bound in red and green ribbon on his filing cabinet and felt his heart jump into his throat.

What could Bond have possibly brought him this time, a novelty pen?! 

Q’s first instinct was to behave like one of his cats and swipe the gift into the nearest bin, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Suddenly, he felt very tired. 

This was far from his longest day at the office, it was actually quite short by Q’s standards (Moneypenny did keep trying to tell him that “normal people don’t consider 10 hours a  _ short _ day, Q, go home before you fall down,” but Q was happy with his work-life balance, thank you very much). Nevertheless, he felt exhausted. 

Whatever was in the box, he could deal with it tomorrow. 

Q didn’t even feel the slightest bit of curiosity as he picked up the gift (small, not too heavy, didn’t seem to break when he shook it slightly, could actually be a pen) and locked it in his desk drawer away from prying eyes. 

He didn’t think about the gift on the way home (he certainly didn’t think about whether  _ this _ gift had a stupid note inside, or if Bond’s presence was meant to  _ be _ the stupid note!) and he absolutely didn’t wonder why Bond had looked like a kicked puppy, stood there Q’s office, expecting Q to be HAPPY to see him when Bond had LEFT LIKE THAT! 

Did Bond really think that some sweets and a STUPID mug would make Q feel better? Was he really that blind? 

Q was still studiously NOT thinking about Bond’s reappearance when he pushed open his front door and promptly stepped on a pile of post. 

No, not post. Delivery cards. 

A whole stack of delivery cards.

Muttering to himself about what the bloody hell the postie was playing at leaving so many cards when he hadn’t even ordered anything, Q scooped them up. Checking the reference numbers to make sure this wasn’t a mistake, he noted that they’d all been filled out properly with sequential numbers. Either the postman really was taking the piss or Q really HAD received, what was it, FIVE parcels on the same day. 

Whatever they were, they would have to wait until the morning. The joys of bloody Royal Mail, not being able to collect parcels until the next day. The pile of little cards stared up at him, cheerfully reminding Q that even though tomorrow was Christmas Eve, his parcel could be collected between 7 and 4. 

Who the hell was sending him things, anyway?!

Oh, of course!

The same person who had been sending him all of those  _ other _ stupid gifts. 

The same person who had the audacity to just turn up out of the blue in Q’s office and say…What  _ had  _ he said? 

Q remembered that it had infuriated him at the time, but now he couldn’t think what it was. 

Oh, yes:  _ I see you’re not wearing your new tie. _

Was one of these gifts a tie?

With the red haze of rage finally abated, Q thought  back  over what Bond had said back in his office. What little Q had  _ let _ him say, that is. 

There was that comment about the tie, and… what else? Something about messages? 

Were all of these stupid “gifts” supposed to be  _ telling _ him something? Telling him what? That Bond had terrible taste in souvenirs? Because Q really didn’t need this many of the damned things to find that out.

Suddenly, Q remembered the notes. 

He’d written them off as snide remarks with barely a glance. Had they been some sort of code? Maybe Bond had been in trouble and had been trying to communicate with Q surreptitiously. But then, why use the postal system? More to the point, why send them along with parcels? Everyone knew parcels took longer to arrive by international mail than letters did. 

No, that made no sense, either. 

Maybe if he re-read them, things would become clearer? 

Because Q hadn’t thrown the notes out. Oh, he’d scoffed at them and tossed them aside, but he just couldn’t bring himself to actually put them in the recycling bin. 

Because even in his hurt and his anger, anything that Bond sent was too precious to throw away (except for the rancid biscuits, that is. They went straight in the bin as soon as he realised they had gone off). 

Because Q knew himself, and he knew his treacherous heart. He knew that he was completely arse over tit in love with James Bond, just as well as he knew Bond felt absolutely nothing for him in return. And he knew that if he threw those notes away, he would regret it later.

So he hadn’t. 

Reaching up to where he’d stashed them out of sight on top of the fridge, Q picked up the pile of papers. 

There, on top, was the note from bloody Linz, signed “love, James” - just who did Bond think he was, anyway?! Using the word “love” so callously. Just the thought of it made Q want to screw  _ that _ particular note up into a ball and play tennis with it. 

He took a deep breath and put the paper down on the kitchen table before he could do anything rash. 

If he was going to try to figure James Bond out through half a dozen brief missives, he was going to need wine. A LOT of wine. 

He took his emergency bottle of Sauvignon Blanc out of the fridge, along with some of last night’s leftovers, which he put in the microwave to heat up for dinner, determined not to look at Bond’s scrawl until after he had eaten. 

Sitting down with his dinner, Q ate on autopilot. One empty bowl and one glass of liquid courage later, Q was as ready as he was ever going to be. Glass freshly topped up, he pulled the notes towards him. 

All six were your typical cheap tourist postcards. All short, just a couple of lines signed off from Bond. 

No, not Bond. 

They were all signed “James” - that was a first! Any written communication Q had received from him in the past had always been signed off “Bond” or at the very least “JB” - never “James”. 

Now, the name “James” stared up at him from six different cities. 

And Q noticed something that he hadn’t noticed before. 

Receiving just one or two parcels together at a time, Q had never paid enough attention to the messages to see, too hurt and too angry at Bond to really take in what was written. 

Now, he saw that they were numbered. 

Small, unobtrusive numbers sat in the bottom corner of each card, around where Q’s thumb would rest when he was reading them. 

Apparently, he hadn’t received these “gifts” in the order Bond intended. 

Also, he seemed to be missing a few. Presumably, the ones he had waiting at the post office. 

Maybe if he put them in order, they would make some kind of sense? It was worth a try. 

A few seconds later, Q was just as perplexed as before, but now he thought he could just about make out Bond’s route through Europe. 

The first postcard showed the White Cliffs of Dover, but the postmark was Calais, so it had clearly been posted from the other side of the Channel.

> _ You must terrify those minions of yours before your first cup of Earl Grey. Maybe this will remind them just how lucky they are. _
> 
> _ James _

That one had been the mug. At the time, Q had been too hurt and angry at what he had perceived as Bond’s sarcasm, but now, he supposed he could see the funny side. 

> _ With a sweet tooth like yours, I’m surprised you don’t have cavities. Hopefully this goes some way to satisfy the cravings. _
> 
> _ James _

The less said about the macarons, the better. Q still had not forgiven Bond for poor Kit’s trip to the vets, even though he could admit that it wasn’t actually Bond’s fault that Kit had inherited her species’ famed curiosity. The postcard was your typical Eiffel Tower at night scene, nothing special but sickeningly romantic.

Was that Bond’s game? 

Q would not be surprised if Bond had deduced Q’s feelings for him, he knew he wore his heart on his sleeve. But would Bond really play with Q like that? 

Clearly he was missing some data here, as numbers 3 and 4 must be among the parcels he had yet to collect, but the fifth gift certainly seemed to imply that was the case. 

> _ These biscuits have a centre almost as sweet as yours.  _
> 
> _ Love, _
> 
> _ James _

It still hurt. Q barely noticed the beautiful Austrian city square on the postcard, stuck staring at those words. 

Heart shaped biscuits, and saying he was sweet, and “love, James” - what was Bond playing at?! 

He’d always been a bit cavalier about the people who cared for him, but downright  _ cruel _ ? 

The next postcard, from Prague this time, didn’t help. 

> _ I saw this and thought of you. Though I think whoever invented this stuff might have taken “tea - a drink with jam and bread” a bit too seriously.  _
> 
> _ James _

The change of tone between numbers 5 and 6 was jarring. No “love”, no hearts, this one was practically impersonal. Just a note with a souvenir you bought for a colleague. Q wouldn’t admit to being disappointed. He  _ wasn’t _ disappointed. He was confused.

Was this note more evidence that it was a game? 

Or was it evidence to the contrary?

If James Bond did anything well, it was running away from his feelings, after all.

Q went to take another sip of his wine and realised that he had finished the second glass. He contemplated a third glass, looking at the bottle as if it held all of the answers to the questions running through his mind. 

Fuck it, he deserved another glass.

Why was Bond doing this?

_ What _ was he doing?

Was it all a game, or did Bond have feelings for Q, too? 

No. He struck that last question from his mind. That was the wine talking. Wine brought out Q’s hopeless romantic side. 

Bond did  _ not _ have feelings for Q. He had run off with a blonde psychiatrist half his age! Besides, just look at these last two gifts! A novelty laser pointer that boldly declared it was from Hamburg and some Dutch cat treats? Hardly romantic. 

> _ Because sometimes cats deserve fun gadgets, too. You work too hard--take some time out, occasionally. Don’t worry, it doesn’t explode.  _
> 
> _ James _

Q snorted and then hurriedly mopped up the wine he’d spat on his cardigan. 

Who was Bond to judge Q for working too hard? The man went from mission to mission with hardly a break between, and Q  _ knew _ his flat was barely furnished, he had installed the security system! 

And why did he always,  _ always _ come back to that bloody exploding pen?! Q made what he thought was a witty quip  _ one time _ and look where it got him! Maybe he would just have to make the bloody thing if only so Bond would shut up about it. 

Except, no, he would  _ not _ make Bond an exploding pen because that was his  _ stupid  _ heart speaking and Bond didn’t deserve any more gadgets from Q. Ever. He had taken the girl, the car and Q's heart with him, he couldn't have his exploding pen and eat it too.

> _ I wonder if your cats are as hard to charm as you are. Hopefully this goes some way towards winning them over. _
> 
> _ James _ .

What did that mean?! 

When he’d received it, Q had read that as Bond poking fun at Q always falling for Bond’s charms when Bond needed something. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

The only thing that Q  _ was _ sure about was that he didn’t know what to think anymore, and that was, frankly, not helpful! 

He needed more data. 

Q knew from the numbers that he was missing 3, 4 and 7, so presumably two of the other gifts were sent later. 

One, at least, was a tie. Bond had seemed quite fixated on the tie. 

Would the contents of the others help him figure out what was going on? Because so far it seemed like Bond knew Q had a sweet tooth and two cats, and liked tea. None of which was exactly a secret. 

But why would  _ these _ gifts make Bond stand there like a kicked puppy when Q sent him packing? 

Q groaned, head in his hands. Was it the wine making him confused, or was it Bond? 

Stupid Bond with his mixed messages, and his heartbroken look, and his… his… gifts! Q wasn’t even  _ angry _ at him right now, he just wanted answers! 

Answers he knew he wouldn’t get until the post office opened in the morning. 

Q heaved a sigh, and stood up from the table, giving the pile of papers one last glance. There was nothing to be done about it tonight. Q didn’t want to even consider speaking to Bond until he’d read what else he had to say. 

And if it became clear that Bond  _ was _ playing a game with Q’s heart, well then…

Bond would never get the chance to start running. 

The next morning, Q was stood outside the door to the post office fifteen minutes before it opened, wishing he could find a way to speed up time. 

He would love to say that he had a very relaxing evening followed by a restful night’s sleep, but he’d be lying. Try as he might, Q hadn’t been able to put stupid bloody Bond and his stupid bloody notes out of his mind. 

It had even gone so far as catching himself trying to predict what new tacky horrors he was about to collect. While doing the washing up, he had wondered if Bond had brought him that most generic of gifts: a new tea towel. While changing for bed, he had wondered if he would soon find himself the owner of a pair of novelty slippers. While trying to clear his mind by reading an  _ actual, real-life paper book _ in bed, he found himself thinking  _ oh, god, not a bookmark! _

Then, once he gave up on the book, he lay awake for hours wondering why Bond had come back, seemingly without his psychiatrist. 

Had she dumped him? 

Had  _ he _ dumped  _ her? _

Had Bond  _ killed _ her?

Ok, Q was pretty sure it wasn’t that last one, but one never knew with Bond. The people he swanned off with had a terrible habit of turning traitor. 

Suffice it to say: Q had not slept well. 

Now, here he was, before seven  _ in the bloody morning _ on his day off- no! On  _ Christmas bloody Eve _ stood outside the post office, waiting to collect god knows what. 

His mood had not improved overnight. 

Finally,  _ finally, _ the door opened. The one and only benefit of getting there so early was that for the first time ever in a post office, Q was not stuck in a queue. The man behind the counter gave him the sort of look that one gives a customer when one doesn’t usually see  _ any _ customers within half an hour of opening. 

He dutifully passed over the parcels, after making Q sign for each and every one of them, and then Q realised that he had made a terrible mistake. 

He had  _ walked _ to the bloody post office! 

How the  _ hell _ was he going to walk back with five bloody parcels?! 

Q should have made Bond give him a lift, seeing as Bond was so keen to send him the stupid things. 

He grumbled under his breath as he ordered a cab, which thankfully arrived very quickly. Funnily enough, not many people needed taxis at seven in the morning on Christmas Eve. 

He grumbled much louder when he realised he’d have to make two trips up the stairs to his flat because he couldn’t carry everything. 

When he had at last deposited all five parcels on his kitchen table, he briefly considered making a cup of tea first, but decided that after putting so much effort into getting them upstairs, he wasn’t going to wait any longer. 

There were no numbers on the outside, but there  _ were _ postmarks. 

Five different cities, five different posting dates. He noted that the earliest was from Lyon back at the start of December, before he had received the first gift. The latest was posted two days ago from _ Hull _ of all places. 

These, at least, he could open in the order Bond intended. 

The first was… an ugly Christmas jumper? 

No, not a jumper, a cardigan. 

Holding it up to get a better look, Q decided that it really wasn’t  _ that _ ugly. It was quite a tasteful design, all told. A lovely shade of green mixed with white in a fair isle pattern which displayed trees, reindeer, snowflakes and poinsettia in neat rows. 

It looked… cosy. Cheerful. Exactly the kind of Christmas cardigan Q would have picked out for himself. 

> _ I didn’t even know they sold Christmas cardigans in France until I saw this. The colour brings out your beautiful eyes. _
> 
> _ James _

Well, that was… something. 

Bond thought his eyes were beautiful?! 

Wait, no not the point! 

Bond thought about Q’s eyes when he was travelling with an objectively beautiful woman. He saw a gaudy (if tasteful) Christmas cardigan and he  _ thought of Q _ . 

Q couldn’t resist trying it on. It fit perfectly, and was exactly as cosy as it looked. 

Well… maybe Bond’s taste in souvenirs wasn’t  _ all _ terrible. 

The next gift was posted from Zurich the day after the cardigan. It was certainly the most well-packaged of all the parcels, a box filled with packing peanuts and another, smaller box. 

A jewellery box. With a logo Q knew well.

Hands trembling more than he wanted to admit, Q opened the box. 

He tried to tell himself it was just a watch. 

Just any old watch.

But it  _ wasn’t _ any old watch. It cost more than Q would like to think about, for a start. 

Staring up at him was a slimmer version of the watch Q had given Bond not so long ago. He knew without trying it on that it would fit him perfectly. 

> _ I believe I owe you a replacement. What was it you said? The inevitability of time. _
> 
> _ James _
> 
> _ P.S. No alarm on this one.  _

Q dropped the watch back into the box as if burned. 

It couldn’t be a game to Bond.

_ It couldn’t be. _

James Bond might not think anything of spending thousands of pounds on a suit, but even he wouldn’t spend thousands of pounds on a  _ joke. _

But if he wasn’t playing a game with Q’s feelings, what was he doing? 

It didn’t take a genius (even though Q was one) to figure out that Bond’s route had taken him back to Austria. Back to where he’d first found Madeleine. 

Had he taken her back to her old life? 

But then why come back? 

Bond had left. Everybody knew that Bond had left. Throwing down Q’s perfectly-made gun on that bridge had been resignation enough, but then he’d taken  _ their _ car! The car they had spent hours together rebuilding from a bloody steering wheel. Hours of Q laughing at Bond for getting engine grease on his fine shirts, and Bond proving himself to be surprisingly handy with a wrench. 

Q had loved that car, had made it with love for Bond, and Bond had  _ taken it away. _

And then he had come back. 

Q was more confused than ever. 

It was the next gift, the seventh according to its note, that changed everything. 

The seventh gift was the tie. The tie Bond had seemed so fixated on when he’d turned up in Q’s office. 

It was a lovely green silk tie, but it was nothing special. No designer label or bespoke maker’s mark. Just a tie. 

A tie with a note longer than any of the others had been.

> _ Whenever I close my eyes, I see yours looking back at me.  _
> 
> _ I’ve taken Madeleine to where she wanted to go. She’ll change her name and then it’s her choice where life takes her. She deserves to be happy.  _
> 
> _ We deserve to be happy, too.  _
> 
> _ No more waiting, Q.  _
> 
> _ You’ve waited long enough for me to realise how much I love you.  _
> 
> _ I’m on my way home.  _
> 
> _ I’ll be home on the day before Christmas Eve. I’d like to make things right between us, if you’ll let me. _
> 
> _ Wait for me to come home one more time? _
> 
> _ I hope you’ll wear the tie. _
> 
> _ Love, _
> 
> _ James. _

Oh.

Oh  _ bloody hell! _

Bond had come back yesterday and wondered why Q wasn’t wearing  _ this tie. _ And Q had just thrown all his anger and vitriol back at the man like he was worthless. 

And Q had said he  _ got Bond’s message _ and Bond had looked like someone had  _ died _ , oh  _ god! _

Bond must have thought that Q had received this letter and wanted nothing more to do with him.

That Q didn’t feel the same.

That Q didn’t love Bond anymore.

_ Shit. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoyed this. Let us know if you did, let us know if you didn't :) We like feedback. 
> 
> Also, the second part ought to appear before the last day of Christmas. So keep a lookout for it.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a curious meow and a white paw suddenly appearing and batting at the tie that brought him out of his reverie. 

Q had no idea just how long he’d been sitting there, staring at the note, unblinking, with the tie before him on the table just lying there, all innocently green and quiet. He had lost all concept of time, while certain words from the note continued to repeat themselves in his mind. 

_ No more waiting, Q. _

Q looked down on his lap and faced the blue and green eyes of Kat who didn't look too impressed now that his curiosity was at least partly satisfied. Still, it didn’t stop him from batting at the tie one more time, probably wanting to push it off the table. When that did not exactly work out, he turned his attention back to Q and headbutted him lightly on the jaw. 

“Oh, Kat…” Q murmured and gently rubbed his cheek against Kat’s, which caused him to start to purr lightly. Q let the note fall down on the table and brought his hands down to the silky fur, petting him.

“Bond loves me,” he said, very softly and still somewhat in a daze. 

In reply, Kat licked him once on the nose, then went back to purring and enjoying the attention. 

Suddenly, Q worried that all of this might be an elaborate dream. What if he was still asleep, and when he woke up, he’d find out that the gifts were just more terrible souvenirs?

So he did what any somewhat normal, mostly sane human being would do in such a situation: he pinched himself. 

And it hurt. 

Kat meowed again, and Q could have sworn he sounded disappointed. At least, he looked wholly unimpressed when Q chanced a glance at him. Q didn’t know whether it was from the lack of petting or what he had done to himself. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know… I’m clearly not thinking straight right now,” Q acknowledged ruefully, to which Kat reacted by daintily licking one white paw. 

“All right, then. Down you go,” Q said and carefully put him down on the floor. “Go bother your sister, she’s probably sleeping in my bed right now. I have something I need to be doing.” 

Q watched Kat long enough to make sure that he wandered off again before turning his attention back to the table.

Before opening the remaining parcels, he picked up the discarded note with shaking hands and read it through again simply to make sure that it said _ exactly _ what he thought it did. Q had learnt early on that it always paid to be thorough in his profession. 

If he read it at least five times before he was able to put it down again, who was counting? No one was there with him, so no one would ever know.

Q stared at the parcels and wondered what was hiding inside. One was bigger and the other was smaller, and when he picked them up one by one he saw that the bigger of the two was postmarked from Belgium while the smaller bore British stamps.

Q used his incredible intellect to deduce that the parcel from Belgium must have been sent _ before _ Bond had returned to Britain, so _ clearly _ that was what he needed to open first. He didn’t know what to expect, really, even after the tie and the note accompanying it, but he thought that it was safe to assume that it was no mere souvenir. 

When this gift revealed itself to be a set of pyjamas, Q thought that it was a lovely but unexpected surprise. It was only when the second gift turned out to be tea -- a generously sized tin of the special blend of Earl Grey from the fancy tea shop Q frequented (because _ of course _ Bond would get him the most expensive tea the shop had) -- that Q truly realised just how deep Bond’s feelings for him ran. 

He read the notes from these two gifts with less focus than he’d afforded to the others, but that was because his mind was busy formulating a plan of attack. 

He realised that it was still early and Bond might still be asleep. Taking into account the way Bond usually behaved after returning to London, namely spending his evening with copious amounts of alcohol, it was not an unreasonable conclusion. But after what had transpired between the two of them the previous night, the possibility of Bond deciding to just leave again was worryingly high. 

So if he wanted to find Bond and hopefully explain himself, there was no time to lose. 

Q tore off his t-shirt and grabbed the first shirt he saw, knotting the tie with shaking fingers. Next came the watch and the cardigan; the buttons seemed fiendishly small. 

Q waved a hurried goodbye to his cats as he grabbed his keys, and then rushed to his office to pick up the gift Bond had left behind the day before. 

While he was driving to Bond’s flat, the final gift sitting unopened on the passenger seat, his mind drifted back to the last two notes. One sentence in particular kept coming back to him. 

_ I cannot wait to be able to wake up next to you and see what damage you can come up with in your pyjamas before your first cup of Earl Grey. _

How had he remembered, when Q himself only did because their first meeting had made such an impression on him?! He had wanted to impress Bond, but had ended up practically flirting with the man he’d only just met and God, Q had berated himself so much afterwards... 

But it appeared that Bond had noticed him as well. 

Having made his way up the stairs to Bond’s flat, Q paused by the door long enough to make sure that he looked presentable and took a deep breath. 

Then, he knocked on the door and waited.

It took what felt like ten minutes and a bit more persistent knocking on Q’s part before the door finally opened, and Bond appeared in front of him. 

“Quartermaster,” he acknowledged gruffly.

“007,” Q said, reverting to the familiar address, surprised at seeing the normally immaculate agent in such a state. 

The man’s eyes were bloodshot, and his whole demeanor reeked of despair. If Q had to guess, he’d say that Bond had not slept a wink the whole night: his hair was mussed as if he’d constantly been running his fingers through it. Rather than his usual suit, or even a pair of jeans, Bond wore a pair of jogging bottoms and a baggy, faded t-shirt.

In short, Bond looked like a mess. 

And it was all his fault.

Q swallowed and then steeled himself. “Could I come in?” he asked. 

Bond said nothing. After a moment, he stepped away from the door, and so Q entered, closing the door behind him. Then he turned to face Bond again. 

“Would you like something to drink?” Bond sounded like even _ looking _at Q hurt. Still, he never turned his eyes away from Q’s. “Or is this an official visit?” 

“No. No, thank you,” Q replied and held out the gift he was holding. “I came because you left this at my office.” 

Bond froze. He’d automatically reached out a hand to accept it, but now it looked like he didn’t know what to do with what he’d been given. Q could sympathise. 

“I… that was for you, Q,” Bond said, quietly. Q saw pain in his eyes, and it hurt him just as much. 

“I know,” he said, moving to take off his scarf and parka. Bond’s eyes tracked his every movement, and Q saw confusion there, and perhaps a spark of hope. He wanted to feed that hope, and so he unceremoniously dropped the clothes on the floor. 

“I finally got your message,” he said softly. “All of them. The gifts, too.” 

Bond’s eyes showed his surprise more clearly than Q had anticipated when he saw what Q was wearing: the things, the _ gifts _, that Bond had given to him. 

“I was under the impression that you had already gotten my message,” Bond said, sounding like he could hardly believe his eyes and ears. Q decided to help him with that. 

“It turns out that I was mistaken,” he said and walked straight to Bond, who blinked and leaned back against the wall behind him. “And I’m here now to correct that mistake.” 

Then he kissed Bond. 

On the way over, Q had imagined running his thumb up and down the delicate skin on Bond’s temples, cradling his face in his hands, licking, nibbling at his lower lip. He had shivered as he imagined Bond groaning into his mouth, Bond kissing back, Bond’s hands delightfully sliding up and down his back...

None of that happened just then. 

Q had put too much force behind his kiss and instead of groaning passionately, Bond let out a grunt of pain as his head knocked against the wall. Q himself cringed away when something hard hit him in the temple as Bond scrambled for purchase. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” Q jumped back. “I’m doing this all wrong! I came and-- I love you and I’m doing this all wrong-- I thought-- I--”

Bond gaped at him, face gone slack, with his eyes wide open in disbelief and his ears sticking out and red at the tips. One hand on the way to his lips; the other holding the small, festively wrapped parcel--Q’s last Christmas gift.

Q bit his lip and smiled shakily. 

“You love me?” Bond’s voice came low and dark and delicious and with just enough of a tremble for Q to forget his brief moment of panic and beam at him.

“Yes. I do,” he said and nodded his head. And then with one hand cradling Bond’s cheek and the other reaching for the gift in his hand, he continued: “Even after the evil cookies and the vet bill and that’s why I-- What I’ve been wanting to say is that the silly gifts and the notes--Oh and the gorgeous watch!” 

Q shook his left wrist where the Swiss timepiece was ticking away under the soft wool of his cardigan. Bond caught his hand and caressed his fingers. 

“But none of it-- It’s not necessary! I mean, I’m grateful, but I’m just… I’m really happy you came back, came _ home _\--”

“Q,” Bond interrupted. “It’s the car key.” 

Q blinked. 

“The car key?”

“To the Aston.”

“You brought it back?!” 

Bond huffed out a laugh.

“Brought it-? Q, of course, I brought it back. It’s _ our _ car.”

“James,” Q breathed out. And then he ran his thumb up and down the delicate skin on Bond’s temples, knuckles catching against his stubble. He kissed that smile, licked, nibbled at that soft, chapped lower lip. He shivered as Bond groaned, and pressed himself closer. 

Q’s last gift thudded against the floor; Bond’s fingers let it fall to run up Q’s back and tangle in his hair...

“A word of advice, James,” Q said breathlessly when they finally separated enough to be able to form words, “Royal Mail cannot be trusted to work in a timely manner.”

~THE END~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thanks for reading our story. We hope you enjoyed it :)**  
What was your favourite bit? Let us know, we're curious! 
> 
> I've also decided to compile a rec list of some my favourites for more convenience in your 00Q bingeing. (Know that you can find many more 00Q fics on all our AO3 accounts, and that Souffle and Celyan will be posting their awesome RBB fics soon. :) )
> 
>   * [Dizzyingly Digital](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20554115) by Celyan, christinefromsherwood, soufflegirl91
>   * [We Lost the Rulebook](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21773869/chapters/51953389) by midrashic
>   * [Highland Christmas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22064905/chapters/52658062) by AtoTheBean
>   * [The Mince Spy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771967) by christinefromsherwood
>   * [Santa Baby (stick an agent under the tree for me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21886006) by soufflegirl91
>   * [No One Flirts Like James Bond](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21805189) by Celyan


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